Three Words Unspoken
by Ruralstar
Summary: After their conversation in the parking lot Cristina and Owen have a lot to think about. A/N: An ep tag for 5x21. Just something that had to come out. Posted sans beta. All mistakes are mine to claim.


Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is owned by ABC television, Shonda Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.

Three Words Unspoken

I love you: words that can stop a war or shred a man's soul.

************************************************

Cristina walked through the parking lot and across the street to her apartment without looking back. She could feel Owen's eyes on her back and hear his jagged sighs in the stillness.

"_Hey there now, take care now, nice work today."_

Amiable sentences which had fallen like lead from lips twisted into an unnatural smile. The high notes of forced levity each time they crossed paths and the way his eyes skittered away from hers. His body sidled just out of reach, leaving only a faint aura of warmth hanging in the air between them. Each incident compounded her confusion until she could not stand another second.

She hated him with a depth she had never considered. In those moments the blood roared in her ears. She felt flush with embarrassment and anger. She hated him for taking away her trust. For breaking the unspoken oath and betraying the love she had dared to embrace.

Cristina sank down on the step in front of her apartment and wiped angrily at the tears dripping from her chin.

She loved him. It could not possibly hurt this much to hate or to fear. She loved those intense blue eyes alight with curiosity and mischief or dark with concern. That boyish grin and low breathy laugh that stirred something never woken before. She loved his scent and his taste. She loved to watch him work and catch that glimmer of pride when he succeeded. She loved everything about him—even the demons that now stood squarely in their path. Owen Hunt cared. He cared so much that he could not let go of anything that had come before her without losing a piece of himself.

_"They're all three word sentences so I could have something to say to you instead of the three words…that are killing me. The three words that you know that I feel but I can't say them."_

Cristina stared up at the clouded sky stained orange with city lights. She blinked and tried to focus through a prism of tears that refused to dry. These were the times that she wished to believe in something more than science. She wanted to scream. Demand an answer from the twisted overseer that would introduce her to a beautiful, complicated man like Owen Hunt and then mine every inch of the road they wished to travel. Where lay the wisdom of thrusting such a sensitive soul into the midst of unimaginable cruelty only to pull him out of it piece by bloody piece? Cristina pounded her clenched fists on her trembling knees.

Owen was hurting. Deeper and more vividly than she thought anyone could. Burke had been her biggest betrayal in life to date, though there had many disappointments that preceded him. There was the pain and rage following her father's death. Intense feelings that blanketed her child's mind in a mantle of maturity she had never shed. The occasional stab of regret when she contemplated the successes he had missed out on. The taint of bitterness from a mother who would have been a softer, kinder person had her father survived. The first chaotic days of sorrowful panic following Burke's departure and the quiet anger that later took its place. These were fleeting mirages in comparison to what she saw on Owen's face in the parking lot.

Cristina leaned back against the wall and took a few deep breaths. The bruises to her throat had healed but she still felt a tightness where his fingers had pressed. Her fingers went automatically to those spots when she woke late at night. She stroked the skin and reminded herself over and over—sometimes audibly—that she was okay. That they were both okay.

But they weren't.

_"I'm no good for you…"_

Cristina pressed her hands to her warm cheeks and shook her head. It was a lie. A bigger, broader lie than Owen could possibly imagine. The monster that crept out that night had caught them both unawares but it was not without its good points. Owen excelled as a teacher, a surgeon, a friend and a lover—all due to the passions of that self same beast. He cared so much for humanity it literally made him sick. He was loyal and he loved her deeper than Burke ever could have. Owen saw Cristina in a clear light without any ulterior motives. She could be everything she ever wanted and he would take no false pride in her success. He _was_ good for her.

Cristina sniffed deeply and laced her fingers across her knees. He was right. The sonofabitch was right. Suddenly she was back to hate but the target had shifted. Truth in all its many shades of crimson frosted the edges of her vision. Beneath the layers of the broken being she confronted in the parking lot lay the man she had first met. The Owen who smiled, laughed and moved with quiet confidence. Cristina huffed a sigh and stared at the sidewalk. That version of Owen Hunt would never be fully realized again and she grieved the loss more completely in this moment than she ever had before. The Owen of Before was only a sketchy memory for her. For him it was the light on one side of a very dark curtain. A light which might grow brighter with time and care but would never completely eclipse the shadows that now defined him.

"_I'm letting you off the hook. I'm trying…I'm trying so hard to let you off the hook. I'm trying to make it right…what I did to you…Can't you see that? I'm just trying to make it right."_

Cristina struggled to her feet and stood swaying on the steps. She did not want to be let off the hook. What she perceived as slights over the last few days were acts of desperation as he strove for some kind of balance. If they were to move forward she had to assign those feelings the adolescent tags they deserved and lay them in a drawer. She reached for her house keys and inserted them in the lock. _I love you_: three unspoken words pulling them close and pushing them apart. Cristina cranked the key and shoved the door hard enough to bang it off the inside wall.

~*~*~

Owen walked rapidly across the parking lot and around the corner. Bile clogged the back of his throat and pinpoints of brilliant light scattered across his vision. He would have retched if there were anything more than water in his roiling stomach. _"Take care now…"_ Her words laced with regret reverberated through his skull as he stumbled to a halt against the hood of his truck.

_How can I do this every day?_

Owen turned around and leaned on his knees, sucking in great gulps of air as he willed his heart to slow. He wondered who was crazier, himself or Dr. Wyatt, for believing that he could continue to work alongside Cristina Yang. Was torture a necessary part of healing? Did he have to continue beating her up with his presence, his false detachment and weighted silences? Owen stood up and coughed to clear his throat.

He hated Cristina. Hated the unnerving innocence wrapped around a heart hardened by disappointment. Loathed the way she trusted him without question and unconsciously cultivated expectations of normalcy. He hated the lies she told in a desperate bid to cement the pieces of them back together in the wake of that horrible night.

Owen unlocked the truck and climbed inside. He leaned back in the seat and wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, squeezing until pain arced sharply across his knuckles.

He loved her. It could not possibly hurt this much to hate or to fear. He loved the laugh she hid from everyone else. The shy smile she flashed when he complimented her work or chanced to brush his fingers across the back of her neck. Her fascination with all things medical and her uncompromising dedication to learn more filled him with hope. Owen even loved the detachment that allowed her to remain calm and realistic in emotional situations. Tempered with experience and a softening soul, Cristina would become an outstanding doctor. He loved her enough to walk away from her reassuring light and into darkness devoid of direction.

"_I jumped in front of her. I knew…I knew I was no good for her, for anyone, and I wrecked her. And that is unforgivable. And I don't forgive myself for that. I can't forgive myself for that. And I feel shameful about that…That is what I feel today, shame."_

Owen dropped his hands into his lap. Wyatt was right. He needed to name the feelings in order for the chaos of his life to make any kind of sense. Doing so left him weak as a mewling baby and wishing desperately for a shot of Scotch. He had resisted the urge thus far. Found it ironic that going home to an empty apartment was far easier than walking into the Pit and dealing with Cristina's friends. Their restrained hostility cut him deeper after each counseling session. As if digging up the bones of his fractured conscience gave their opinions greater weight. Still, he blundered forward.

"_I'm not like everyone else."_

The paper with the list of phrases was now jammed into his pocket. Owen flinched as it crinkled beneath the weight of his hand. Cristina _was _different from everyone else. Seeing her in the elevator had nearly killed him. Uttering inane platitudes in an attempt to keep his distance made him feel like a fool. It was a charade he could not possibly maintain, and one she would not accept. Offering her the list was both peace offering and insult. A definition which shifted with each beat of his heart.

Owen looked out at the street. Bits of litter swirled in the gusts of spring wind and spattered the side of his truck. Taillights formed an endless crimson string as they streamed through the intersection at the end of the block. The world spun round despite the wreckage cluttering his small corner of it. He swallowed the cotton from his mouth and fingered the keys dangling from the ignition. What was the next step? Short of finding the nearest liquor store and crawling into the darkest hole he could find?

Shaking his head, Owen pulled out the battered wallet he had been carrying for five years from his pant's pocket. It had been a Christmas present from Beth the first year they dated. The leather still smelled faintly of sand, machine oil and blood. Dark splotches stained the brown hide. He knew the origin of every single one. What would doctor Wyatt say about the memories and his refusal to let them go?

Initially, he resisted her assessment of his mental state. The more he saw of her however, the more conscious he was of how little self-control remained. Amy Wyatt could not be bluffed or intimidated. She was perfectly capable of sitting in complete silence for an hour all the while calmly watching him sweat. Owen could not remember the last time he felt so unnerved yet he managed to find something to say by the end of each session. Taking a deep breath, he unfolded the wallet and pulled out the forest-green business card tucked safely behind a twenty dollar bill. He tossed the wallet on the dashboard and pulled his cell phone from a pocket inside his coat.

"_Take care now…" Tears streaming down her beautiful face… _The memory rolled over him in a chilly wave. Owen clenched the phone and dialed the number listed next to the word HOME on the card. A long moment of silence before a stuttering ring, then two, then three…

"Hello?"

Wyatt's voice was sleepy, hoarse. Owen glanced at the time and groaned. "Oh God, I woke you up…"

"Owen?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't realize how late it was…"

"Stop," she murmured in that tone that was both disturbing and stabilizing. "Take a breath and tell me why you're calling."

"I'll come to your office in the morning…"

"Something has rattled you, Owen. Don't shove it aside."

She had heard the catch in his voice. Owen could picture her sitting up in bed, notebook open across her lap. Dark blue eyes quietly assessing. Waiting patiently for him to find the words she knew were there. He drew a shaky breath. "I worked with Cristina today…It was a tough case and I…I wanted to teach her, talk to her…I don't know how I'm supposed to do this…" The silence was broken only by her shallow breathing. Owen shifted in his seat. "She stopped me in the parking lot, accused me of…it doesn't matter… I showed her the list we came up with…told her what the phrases were for… Jesus, Amy, I feel like such a bastard and she doesn't…I don't think she understands…" Owen swallowed hard, nearly choking on the lump in his throat. "All I want to do is protect her…from me…"

"You are," Amy assured. "You're trying to heal and keeping things professional for the moment is the best thing for both of you."

"I don't...I don't know if I can do this…"

"Would you hurt her again?"

"Christ no!"

"Then take the steps, Owen. Right now your focus has to be on yourself."

"I wanted to…she knows how I feel…"

"If she knows then it's up to her to decide what comes next." Owen envisioned her leaning forward to seek his wavering gaze, pen trapped between her fingers. "You have to do this for yourself, Owen. Not for her or anyone else."

"I know." For the first time the words were truth and not just an offhand affirmation meant to distract. "I know," he repeated softly.

"Good."

Owen forced down a vaguely hysterical laugh. "I'm hanging up now."

"We don't have a session scheduled for tomorrow but if you feel the need don't hesitate to call."

"Okay."

"Good night, Owen."

"Night."

Owen ended the call and returned wallet and phone to their respective pockets. The confrontation with Cristina had been excruciating but there was a glimmer of light. An acknowledgment that he had to let go of the need to please her and concentrate on the reality Iraq had thrust upon him. There were no guarantees but unearthing some semblance of the man he had once been might help define the man he had become. He would show up and do the job because that's what you did no matter how bloody the road. _"It's a start."_ Wyatt's reassuring words drifted through his mind as he started the truck and pulled out into traffic.

~THE~END~


End file.
